


Dean, my love

by gabrielsbutt



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Destiel - Freeform, JUST PREPARE YOURSELF, Letters, M/M, Not Beta'd, POV Castiel, Trigger: Depression, Trigger: Suicide, basically kinda angsty, idk what else to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 06:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1930785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabrielsbutt/pseuds/gabrielsbutt





	1. January 17th

Dean,

I'm always uncertain of how to begin a letter. I could pose a question: ask after your health and well being, or inquire after your current affairs and activities or even comment on the length of time that has passed since we last saw each other. Or I could begin it as I have done- in a vague and unsettling manner.

Letter writing is a practice that has always fascinated me, I've always wondered how letters on a page could mean so much to the individual reading them. And how easily a few words could convey a thought or feeling. I know you've never cared much for writing letters, in fact, the only time I have seen your writing would be when you left me a grocery list pinned to the fridge door, there were a few items written in your sprawling script- I still have that list.

You've always been blunt and a little tactless, it's one of the things I admire about you. Admittedly, sometimes your frankness has caused you trouble, but you've never let that stop you. 

I miss you.

So far this letter has consisted of me simply spouting off my thoughts regarding letter writing and yourself, and I have yet to share anything about myself. I have never enjoyed discussing my feelings with others, in fact I often avoid that very subject; because once you start thinking about how you truly feel, you realize how broken you are. At least, I do.

I would be lying if I said that I was doing well/pretty good/not too bad - phrases used to dismiss the meaningless question: how are you? In truth, when people ask that question there is an underlying wish for it not to be answered honestly, so instead, we lie and reply with false smiles and emotionless answers. But you want the truth don't you? You're not just another person that I should deceive into thinking that everything is okay. You're so much more. So here it is, candid and unequivocal- I am past breaking point, I have reached a new depth of sadness, of emptiness, every day I go to bed praying that I will not wake up, my very living is a burden to me. That is how I am. 

I don't want to end this letter on such a negative note. You should know that when we were together you made me feel complete and absolute. I treasure every memory I have shared with you, the laughter we shared and the tears we shared. You made me so incredibly happy Dean Winchester. 

To conclude, I know you do not write letters; but could you make an exception? It is a small favor that I ask of you. Please.

Cas.


	2. February 3rd

Dean,

Hello. I hope you are well.

I feel perhaps my last letter was badly written, I do not want to come across as a victim of some great injustice. Neither do I want your sympathy or pity. I do not want my letters to be about me, I want them to be about you.

Dean, I am deeply in love with you.

Whether you reciprocate my feelings for you or not, you should know that I will never stop loving you.

After I had posted my last letter to you, I began musing over your reaction to it. Perhaps you'd look at the envelope, recognize my writing and toss it aside; or maybe you'd read my letter to the end and heave one of your long, deliberating sighs before moving on to something else; or maybe you'd try in earnest to write some kind of reply but you'd become frustrated and only end up with pieces of scrunched up paper. Whatever your reaction, I know that you are still yet to reply, but all the same, I will continue to write you letters.

Dean, I want to go back to the beginning, remember when we first met, I want to relive those memories once more.

 

I was settling into my new neighborhood, I was yet to meet any of my neighbors. I recall being in the front yard, I was gardening. Then I heard the smooth rumble of an engine- a low growl, a sound I recognized from the few days I had been living in the neighborhood, but one I was yet to identify. I glanced up and saw a black '67 Chevy Impala easily glide into the driveway next to mine. I have never been a car fanatic, but I must say this particular car caught my eye; it was unusual and exciting. The rumble of the engine slowly died down, the car door clicked open and that was the first time I saw you: plaid shirt, jeans and sturdy laced boots. You did not notice me at first, but then your eyes caught mine, you smiled and waved. I did the same.

Every detail, every image from that day is still so crisp and fresh in my mind.

I was never a believer in love at first sight, but after seeing you, I had to reevaluate. 

I miss you Dean.

Cas

 

 


	3. March 5th

Dean,

I have decided to skip the long introduction in this letter. I simply want to get the point- remembering you. Remembering us.

After our first, brief encounter; you immediately became the focus of my attention and thoughts. I have never been a confident person, I do not like to use labels, but in this case, I would give myself the label of an 'introvert.' I've always been withdrawn and diffident and so it took me hours of deliberation before I finally plucked up the courage to knock on your door and speak to you. 

You were welcoming but wary, I was a stranger after all. I remember how privileged I felt to have been invited inside your home; I've always considered going to someone's residence a personal and intimate thing, as your place of dwelling always contains the the objects that are most unique to you and when you allow someone else to see these objects, it almost feels like an invasion of privacy. 

I remember sitting down on a taupe colored couch whilst you boiled some coffee. I remember you asking me questions about my hometown, my family, my interests. I returned your questions and learnt you were born in Lawrence, Kansas, that you had a younger brother called Sam, that you had a mother and father but you hadn't spoken or heard from your father in ten years and that you enjoyed playing soccer, going to the beach and that you loved pies. 

I was conscious of not overstaying my welcome, and after two hours I was back within the comfort of my own abode. 

It's like you're a drug. Once I had tried a little of you I was hooked, and I couldn't get enough of you. I certainly couldn't quit you. 

I still haven't quit you, Dean. 

Cas.


	4. March 28th

Dean,

Remember when you told me that you weren't gay?

We'd been chatting and seeing each other for about three months, I was almost certain that we had become 'more than friends.' So, one day when we were conversing and laughing on your couch, I began to lean in slowly, eyes fixed on your lips. You jolted backwards and raised your hands and said in a breathy kind of way "Cas, dude, I'm not gay." I remember that. The silence that followed was awkward and uncomfortable, I got up to leave because I did not know of any other way to react to the situation.

You stopped me and I could see how you struggled to say what you said to me next, "I mean... I didn't think I was gay." And then you were the one leaning forward, eyes fixed on my lips, and I leaned in too. That was our first kiss.

I had always known I was gay, ever since I was a little boy. But you were not the same, you'd never been in a relationship with a man before, and I could see the prospect of having one was daunting and a little frightening to you- it was unknown territory. You seemed a little embarrassed and uneasy at first, your body rigid and stiff when we first held hands in public; but eventually, you learned to forget what people were thinking.

I sold my house, and moved in with you - next door. We had our ups and downs, there were some days we loathed each other and other days when we couldn't keep our hands off of one another. 

My most treasured memories are the ones spent with you. 

After living with you for just over a month I began to notice your little habits and quirks, the things you did unconsciously that were of no significance to you, but gave me so much pleasure to recognize. There were times I got carried away just looking at you, studying every detail of your face: the way your jaw would clench when you were thinking, the crinkles around your eyes when ever you smiled, the way your eyebrows lifted when you were surprised...I can still picture you so vividly.

Do you remember when we first made love?  


You were so incredibly nervous, we'd been an 'item' for about five months; I think we were both surprised that we had not yet consummated our relationship. We'd done other things, of course, but we were yet to reach the point of complete unity. It was a Friday night, we were slumped on your couch watching some mediocre TV show, except we weren't really watching it. We were a tangled mess, touching, feeling, stroking. 

We didn't stop when we usually would have, we carried on, I could see you were anxious; having never been with a man in that way before. I had had experience, but it was nothing compared to the experience I was about to share with you. It was slow, careful and intimate. 

It is a memory I will never forget.

I think after that rather long and detailed letter I will bring it to an end.

I love you Dean, please reply soon.

Cas


	5. April 15th

Dean,

It is a very hot day today, so I'm sitting outside and writing this. Maybe, when you receive this, you can sit outside and read this; we spent a lot of time outside together.

I remember in June some time, it was lovely weather and so we decided to go to the beach. I think this has to be one of my fondest memories of you. We messed around in the sea, trying to jump the waves and you decided to be daring and swim into the current. We collected sand dollars and shells, and found a little rock pool and observed the crabs and other crustaceans. When the glaring light of the sun was replaced with gentle haze of the evening we wriggled our toes into the sand and lay down, my head resting on your chest. We counted the stars and watched as the sun slowly sunk away past the horizon.

That was a good day.

We did a lot of things together, you and I.

 

Neither of us enjoyed arguing, we would have the odd falling out, where we'd be blunt and curt with each other for the rest of the day; but we'd always sought to resolve our problems before the day was over.

But one day, one day, things got a little out of hand. This isn't a memory I want to relive; but I want these letters to show the truth of our relationship- the bad and good.

You were already annoyed due to some disagreement at your work, and that did not help your mood. I cannot remember exactly what I said to you, all I know is that it made you storm out, slam the door and next I heard the impala screech out the driveway. I spent that night alone, for what felt like the first night in forever. I vowed never to let that night repeat itself. 

Of course, you returned home, we resolved things and didn't talk of it again. 

From that day on wards I spent three more months with you.

Then...

That is for another letter.

Cas

P.S. Would you please reply?


	6. May 8th

Dean,

This letter, I imagine, will be the most painful to write; already my hand is trembling under the weight of emotion I am engulfed by.

Seven months.

I spent seven months with you; and then, it was all over.

You had never opened up much about family, but on this occasion, you decided it would be a good time to introduce me to Sam. You were excited about the prospect of me finally meeting your little brother, 'little Sammy' of whom I'd heard so much of. It was a three hour drive, you said, as you climbed into the impala.

It was a nice day- blue skies, the sun shinning lazily in the sky and a warm September breeze.

I am not sure if I can go on remembering, my tears are already blotching the page...no, I have to.

I cannot remember very well the sequence of events that followed, you were driving (you'd just told me one of your lame jokes) and you were laughing. Then, it happened.

Crash. Bang. Out.

I awoke in white sheets, to the smell of disinfectant and medicine. The left side of my face was aching and my body felt bruised and beaten. A nurse noticed me and tried to comfort me with a few consoling words; but my attention was directed elsewhere- you. I wanted to know where you were, what had happened, my mind was filled with questions, worries and concerns.

When I asked the nurse what had happened she gave me doleful look and said softly, "you were involved in a car accident." And then, I asked after you.

The nurse just stared, her eyes downcast.

"I'm afraid he passed away."

And with those five words my heart was torn in two.

Cas


	7. June 10th

This isn't going to be a letter.

This is going to be a note.

To say goodbye.

I know why you didn't reply to any of my letters, they were never delivered- I've yet to come across a postal service to heaven. I wrote to you because I want our story to be remembered.

I thought that when writing this I would be uneasy and scared, but the truth is, I am calm, I am at ease.

I do not fear the unknown because I know I will be sharing it with you.

I am unsure of what else to write.

Thank you.

You should know that I am incredibly thankful for the life we had together.

I think it is time for me to rest down my pen, and pick up the noose that lies beside me.

I will see you soon.

Dean, my love.


End file.
